


Dad

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Father's Day, Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 13:52:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14978519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Spock manages a small part of Father’s Day.





	Dad

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The more Spock looks at the tiny sculpture in his hands, the more he sees its flaws—the ears are slightly misshapen, the face isn’t truly symmetrical, the back rises more than the _real_ I-Chaya’s does. The pictures on his computer, given to him by his mother in a wide gallery of photographs from I-Chaya’s and his father’s youth, reflected a better-looking creature. But it’s already been heated and painted, and there’s no time to make a new one. His paint job is inconsistent. And that fills Spock with shame.

He has to will the blush off his cheeks. He glances at the mirror hung over his desk, checking that all traces of green have receded before he dares to leave his room. His footsteps come slower than usual. Everything about this feels unnatural and strange, but his mother insisted, and a good child obeys their parents.

He comes into the living room, where his parents often retire after dinner, and sure enough, his mother has set the scene up for him. His father’s hands are free of any work, and the two of them are seated comfortably along the couch, doing nothing more than chatting lightly. They stop when Spock enters. His mother glances at the figurine clutched in his tiny hands, and her lips visibly fight to hide her frown. She told him to ‘wrap’ it. But Spock did disobey that, because extra layers of garish paper meant only to be torn apart and discarded seem so illogical. His father wouldn’t approve. The whole point is to make his father _happy_.

That doesn’t seem right either, but Spock does his best. He crosses the soft carpet of the living space and presents his gift, holding it out in both hands and announcing, “Happy Father’s Day, Father.” The words come out just as he practiced in the mirror. His father arches one quizzical brow.

Spock waits, frozen and horribly wracked with traitorous nerves, until his father reaches out to pluck the figurine from his shaking grip. It’s times like these that Spock wishes, more than anything, that he were purely _Vulcan_ , because surely it’s his human side that makes him fall apart. Surely _Vulcan_ children can retain their calm, their logic, even in the face of nonsensical alien customs. Surely their fathers haven’t so many reasons to be ashamed of them.

He understands the hypocrisy of that thought, but it brings him no comfort. He watches his father turn the figurine over in his hands, examining the many hours of work that Spock poured into the gift. He would’ve liked to simply purchase a gift—if a gift he had to have at all—but admirals are difficult to shop for, and his mother insisted this would have more _meaning_. The meaning is precisely what troubles Spock. He fills the awkward silence with a babbling: “It is I-Chaya. I attempted to recreate him as he was in your youth, Father.”

His father glances up again, catching his gaze in acknowledgement. His father asks, “What is the purpose of this?”

Spock fails. He can feel his cheeks heating. But he stubbornly suggests, “Personalized décor is its own purpose.” He can see his mother’s grin in the corner of his vision. His father says nothing, and Spock argues on: “A home without art representative of its owners would poorly reflect the IDIC principle. Aesthetic appreciation is an important mark of many species’ sentience, and the displaying of such aesthetics is therefore of value in itself.”

His mother smiles warmly at him. It doesn’t help him in the slightest. His father continues to stare at him blankly, then glances sideways. His mother catches his father’s eye, and whatever passes between their long-established bond, Spock isn’t privy to. But when they finish, Spock’s father tells him, “Thank you.”

Spock remains standing, filled with a strange sense of relief and accomplishment, while his father rises from the couch and crosses to the mantelpiece. He sets the figurine down in the center, rearranging his wife’s photographs accordingly to give the miniature I-Chaya pride of place. The real I-Chaya is currently padding about the garden—Spock will fetch him after this and whisper about the odd encounter to him, because I-Chaya guards all of Spock’s secrets well. 

When the mantelpiece is finished, Spock’s father spares him a nod, and Spock takes that as dismissal. He doesn’t stay to hear his mother’s praise. 

He finds himself every bit as embarrassed as he knew he’d be. But pleased.


End file.
